


hooked

by peaktotheocean



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and His Pack Series - inexplicifics, It's about the /yearning/, M/M, Warlord Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaktotheocean/pseuds/peaktotheocean
Summary: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, hadn't been expecting to see invading Witchers on his riverbanks. Nor had he anticipated being named king to serve the White Wolf. Unfortunately, those were just the start of his problems.------Because this fandom needs more childhood sweetheart stories
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 119
Kudos: 1442





	1. Julian

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Minting of a Gold-Crowned King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206744) by [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics). 
  * Inspired by [Long Live the King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480611) by [stockholm_syndrom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stockholm_syndrom/pseuds/stockholm_syndrom). 



> the core idea for the beginning of this fic was clearly inspired by The Minting of a Gold-Crowned King by inexplicifics, part of the Accidental Warlord verse which I cannot recommend enough. Thank you so much for that series. It has brought me so much happiness to read over and over again.
> 
> this story is also inspired by Long Live the King because the idea of a kind and competent King Julian is one that will never leave my mind.

"I don't like this anymore than you do but hear me out." Julian looked the horse in the eyes, with all the seriousness he could muster. 

_Save the worst for first_ is what the stablemaster always said. Julian could see the logic behind it but in having a staring contest with the old stallion who surely wasn't about to let him into his stall, he hated it. 

"Benjamin is sick and this needs to be done," he tried to reason with an animal both taller and larger than him. "He'll be awfully sad if it doesn’t. No one likes a sad stableman."

The horse snorted but didn't move one way or another. 

Julian twirled the hoofpick around his fingers. This is why Benjamin needed an apprentice. So that when he was sick, Julian wasn't the only one who didn't fear the old stallion taking up residence in the furthest stall from the entrance.

The rest of the young boys running around the castle would happily brush down coats, polish tacks, muck out stalls, the lot of it. But when it came to picking out the hooves of the grumpy stallion? They immediately came to get their Viscount. 

Not that Julian truly minded. He had been sitting alone in his big empty office when the eager knock came at the door. If he had to choose between standing here in front of Benjamin's pride and joy or tackling the stack of official-looking letters on his desk from other nobles well, Julian couldn't say that he wasn't grateful for the interruption. It was a welcome respite. 

Or it was.

A scream came from outside the stables. So curdling and high-pitched that Julian's heart near stopped.

 _The children_ , Julian thought frantically. 

He had taken the baker's children, a pair of twin daughters and a younger son down to the stable with him to get them out of their mother's hair for a few hours. 

Julian sprinted out of the barn and towards the direction of the scream, clutching tightly to the hoof pick he hadn't even gotten to use yet. The children were right where he had left them, catching at frogs in the riverbed. 

Only there were no frogs in sight but instead were a group of large men just barely three meters away.

The crest on two of their chest plates made them easy to identify. The stylized profile of a white wolf with black ribbons tied on the hilts of their weapons.

Representatives of the wolves of Kaer Morhen. 

These men were _Witchers._

Julian didn't have much time to think past that. He threw himself on the ground ahead of the children and in front of the Witchers, his arms up in the air, river water quickly steeping through his thin pants. The hook pick dropped onto the banks, knocking against the flat rocks as he held his hands with his palms open foward.

"Don't harm them, I beg you!" Julian looked up at the Witchers. "I'm Viscount over these lands. I take responsibility for whatever the issue may be. Please," he stressed from his place on his knees. He felt the little boy, Alexander, curl his hand into the back of Julian's shirt as one of his sisters pressed her face in between Julian's shoulder blades. He wished they'd move further back, take shelter in the stables, but he couldn't focus on that right now. Staying between the children and these supposed Witchers were his only job now.

There were six Witchers, all tall and built like stone houses. They were each donning armor though it was all different, personalized to their bodies and, Julian presumed, specialities. Only two had visible Wolf sigils. The others, Julian couldn't quite identify as a result of their condition. The armor of the Witchers, whether leather or metal, was covered in blood and mud. If he had the presence of mind, Julian would be wincing. 

One Witcher, the tallest of the lot with dark hair, a deep red shirt under his armor, and a scar across his face stepped forward in front of the group. Julian tipped his head forward and averted his eyes out of respect. 

“Where’s your village?” the Witcher growled, stopped about a meter from Julian. 

"What?" Julian gasped. He couldn't help himself. He looked up at the Witchers, his head tilted in confusion.

"We came through the village. All the homes are empty," the taller Witcher growled. "If you are Viscount here then where are your subjects? What have you done to them?" 

Julian's expression eased with the realization that this was a question he could easily answer. “Oh, they're in the castle, mostly." 

“What?” The Witcher barked and Julian flinched.

He answered the Witcher slowly, so not to invite any more ire, leaving his hands raised though Julian longed to use them in order to comfort the shaking children behind him. “Please, my lord, it’s nearing the winter season and with the increase of blizzards the last few years, we have had so many homes collapse and there are more than enough rooms in the castle so...”

"You mean to tell me," the Witcher growled, "That everyone from your lands is in your castle."

Julian though about for a moment. "Well, not everyone, I mean. Only those who wanted to come. And naturally the farmers have their animals to tend to but. A lot of them. They move in after the harvest usually."

It was one of Julian's favorite times of the year. While winter was dark and cold, having nearly a whole small village in his castle, brightening up the darkness, was a blessed pastime. It started with a large feast after the harvest and went right through until spring. For a few months out of each year, Julian's empty castle became a playground to children, a busy workspace for tradesmen, and a home to all who needed it.

"For only the last few years?" The Witcher asked, repeating Julian's own words. 

"I'm, uhh, new to the Viscount title," Julian explained poorly. He couldn't imagine the Witchers wanted his ramblings about how he came to the Viscount title in Lettenhove, his presumed immortality courtesy of his father, training his mortal niece to take his place so that the lands would continue to grow and the king wouldn't come after his people. He had seen it happen before. Mortals thinking they could take Julian's endless years as their own. Nothing but trouble. 

Instead, Julian kept his mouth shut.

The Witcher who must be the leader if he was the only one actively talking was eyeing Julian carefully. “Get up,” He said in a soft grumbly voice that Julian did not want to trust but couldn't help himself. Julian obeyed but stayed put in front of the children who bravely gathered around his legs, each of them holding on tightly to the fabric of his pants. 

"You’re Witchers, yes?" He asked carefully, eyeing the tops of their heads. All dark brown and auburn hair. "But what about—“ Julian touched his hair briefly before remembering himself. He shook the flashes of memory out of his mind. He put his arms back up in a surrender position. "Has the White Wolf taken Temeria then?"

The Witchers' faces remained blank. 

"Something must have happened." Julian's heart sank. "It's a little earlier than was expected."

Everyone knew the White Wolf was slowly conquering lands but to have him come to Temeria this soon after taking over Redania...

“Your king attempted to have the White Wolf assassinated.”

Julian felt the blood drain from his face. "He what?" The Witchers looked to one another, as if mentally discussing Julian's response with one another. 

"He’s dead now." The other Wolf Witcher told Julian, a smirk on his face that implied he had been the one to strike the final blow.

"Right. Of course.” Julian felt nauseous. He held no love for the king but still, it was an upheaval. 

These Witchers were here as what then? Emissaries? Informing the surrounding lands about the Wolf’s new rule over them? Collecting tributes perhaps? Was anyone seated on the throne?

Maybe they were just here commandeering the space for the night until they continued on their journey back to the White Wolf himself. Perhaps Julian’s land and people would be left alone for now.

Not likely but Julian could hope.

If the king had attempted an assassination on the White Wolf and the Witchers took the kingdom, that meant the White Wolf was Julian's lord. Julian was his to command and that of his Witcher army. 

Julian swallowed and steadily, told them just that. He slowly went back down on a single knee, head bowed. “I’m at the service of the White Wolf and those who he commands. I welcome you to the lands that the White Wolf allows his subjects to keep.”

He looked up to the Witchers. They didn’t respond and they didn’t look as though they had any interest in doing so. Cautiously, Julian raised himself off the ground again and kept going, addressing the largest Witcher, managing to meet him in the eyes with only some nerves.

"If its lodgings you require, we can clear some rooms for you and your fellow Witchers. We have food, we can prepare baths. Also, we could have someone launder your clothes," Julian said delicately, eyeing the fabric peeking out from underneath mail and leather armor. It was covered in fluids that Julian didn't particularly want to think about but he'd do it himself if the laundress girls were too queasy at the sight. He doubted it would be an issue though.

The leader whispered something to his second-in-command who nodded. Julian sighed but he didn't let down his guard just yet. Still, he took advantage of the moment.

Slowly, as calm as he could manage, he stood and turned around to face the children. "Take your brother and go inside. Tell Mistress Klatchen that we've got honored guests of the White Wolf staying with us this evening. Spare rooms must be prepared with baths and fresh sheets, extra food for tonight's meal, as well as supplying them with additional rations for their depleted supplies." The Witchers didn't argue with him and they let the girls make their way hastily towards the castle, their brother between them.

Julian felt himself becoming somewhat relieved. At least if anything happened now, the children wouldn't see it. That was a small blessing. Sure, the Witchers hadn't contradicted his plans but it was their prerogative to do so if they wished. 

"A laundress would be appreciated," one of the Witchers in the back growled appreciatively. "Good thinking." 

Julian blinked at him. All right then. "Yes, my lord."

Some of the Witchers began to strip right there, tossing clumps of clothings into a disgusting pile that Julian would probably bring to the washing rooms himself to save anyone else the trouble. 

He couldn't focus on the bloody shirts for very long though. There were only so many places to look. Julian's cheeks grew red. Scarred more than an average human perhaps but still, the muscles on the all Witchers were ones that Julian tried his best to avoid looking at. Judging by the leader's smirk, he wasn't doing a great job.

“Ah, apologies," he managed to get out.

"For what?" The second-in-command smirked, elbowing a lanky Witcher next him. Perhaps less muscles than his brethren but still lean with plenty of daggers on his person.

"My. You know. Oh don’t make me say it," Julian laughed in disbelief. It had been a long time since he had been around a Witcher. He had forgotten how mischievous they could be.

They were going to make him say it.

"You’re very attractive and I don’t mean anything by smelling of what I’m sure is just copious amounts of lust. I don't mean any offense by it, I swear," Julian said quickly as all six Witchers froze. 

He wanted to get down in the ground again. Walk back his jests. Anything to get them moving again. He felt like prey once more. He moved slowly back towards the ground but--

"Get back up," the second-in-command barked at Julian who clumsily rushed to obey. "How do you know about that?" He asked before the leader could hold an arm out to stop him.

"Know what?" Julian asked, eyes wide. 

He leaned in, face inches from Julian's and although there were no humans around for over a hundred meters, he whispered, "About a Witcher's sense of smell."

"Is that not...common knowledge?" Julian thought back through his decades, mind racing. He had lived nearly a century. Rumors about Witchers came and went and sure, many of his facts came right from the source, a WItcher himself, but it had been so long ago.

"It's not," the leader said solemnly. "Explain yourself." 

He sounded more patient than his second-in-command but Julian could still feel himself being urged to make haste.

"I had a Witcher friend once." The leader had a bewildered look on his face. There was murmuring among the small group. “A friend who became a Witcher," Julian corrected himself quickly. "We were well.” Julian looked embarrassed, he willed the flush to leave his cheeks. It refused. “Sweethearts, I suppose you’d say.”

"Sweethearts? With a Witcher? You courted?" 

Julian could understand their disbelief. He swallowed and kept going, keeping his voice low. “I knew him before he left for your...trials.”

That single word got a reaction out of the Witchers. Whatever potential chaos almost broke out was silenced by the leader with a single wave of his hand. 

“We were children together.” Julian closed his eyes and his heart clenched as memories he had tried not to think of for decades raced through his mind.

_Flashes of catching frogs in the river just like the twins had been attempting earlier._

_A warm hand in his._

_Bullies in the town square, hiding behind a larger boy who stood in front of him._

_A small fist gripping a bunch of colorful weeds, held out towards him._

Julian steeled himself and opened his eyes again.

“I had an uncle who lived in a small village nearest to Kaer Morhen. Just two days ride past Ard Carraigh. I spent a lot of time there as a child for my education.” 

_Breaking apart a warm roll and handing the larger half over._

_Two pairs of feet dangling over the side a bridge._

_Chapped lips pressed against his own._

“We met and then he came back to me, year after year.” 

"You're telling the truth," the second-in-command said, in some kind of awe. Julian didn't like the way any of them were looking at him. He hadn't been used to this level of scrutiny, not since his school days. "What happened?"

"He stopped coming back to me." Julian tried to stop his eyes from welling up with tears but it was a fool's errand. "I couldn't...I asked around. No one knew. Or wanted to say."

"What was his name?"

Julian sighed. He didn't want to answer that question. For his own health and sanity. He couldn't. 

“No,” he refused quietly, praying it wouldn't be the end of him. “If he is alive and just decided to stop coming home to me...”

“It wouldn’t matter to you that he was safe?”

Julian's laugh was a desperate one, harsh and short. He answered the taunt. “Then that’s a different kind of heartbreak, don't you think?”

The second-in-command couldn't take a hint. "Heartbreak or not," he looked at the lean Witcher, "I'd want to know if my lover was alive."

“How dare you?" Julian asked, with any of the spare courage he had left. "It _can’t_ matter. What good would I be then to my people who need me? If I was heartbroken more than I already am? What would that--" Julian cut himself off. He couldn't argue with Witchers. That hadn't gotten him anywhere in his life in nearly eighty years. 

He let the Witchers have control of the silence then. His chin raised in defiance, he watched as they had their silent conversations with one another, every so often looking over at him as though he was a traveling curiosity. Julian wanted to shout at them. He just needed to keep his cool until they left. Surely they'd only stay a night or two. The White Wolf's Witchers were used to long journeys and traveling during all seasons. This was just a quick stop for them.

The Witchers turned towards him finally, clearly coming to some kind of decision, and Julian stood up straight as he could manage.

“You can rule from here if you’d like," the leader told him firmly.

“Here?” Julian’s brain caught up with the beginning of the sentence. “ _Rule?_ ”

“The king’s castle is...not in the best shape," the Witcher told him, as if he was explaining something that Julian surely must have already known.

“Rule?” He repeated. " _King?_ " Julian wanted to sit down again. He wondered if they'd let him.

"Wolves," the tall Witcher muttered, pushing forward so he was at the front of the group. "Viscount Julian," he said seriously, ducking down to look Julian in the eyes. "I am Aiden, one of the Cat Witchers. Our group's leader, Eskel, is right-hand to the White Wolf."

_All right. Right-hand. To the White Wolf. Sure. Cat Witchers?_

Julian was following along. For the most part. At any rate, he nodded to indicate that he was following along.

Aiden continued, “You’re the next closest ruler. You weren’t aware of the uprising. You swore loyalty to the White Wolf.”

“Well. Yes, of course, I—“ Julian slowed to a stop when he finally gathered all the Aiden was saying. There were nearly a half dozen separately sanctioned lands between Julian's and the king's. It wasn't just an assassination that the king had planned, it had been a full-blown coup.

“Was there anyone left loyal?” Julian asked hoarsely. Perhaps he should have spent more time reading his correspondence. Perhaps more of the noblemen had known about his immortality and thought that it lumped him in with Witchers. A blessing.

Eskel shrugged, taking over for Aiden. “There are more Witchers there along with a few of our mages. They will sort out everything.”

"Until then?" Julian asked.

"We'll accept your offer to stay the night. Tomorrow, we'll head out and continue along our path. We have other duties to complete on behalf of the White Wolf."

Eskel saw Julian's fear at being left as king. “We’ll leave you with two Witchers for protection. More Witchers and our mages will be coming through as soon as word spreads. You will meet with them to discuss your holdings.”

"Right," Julian said faintly. "My holdings. Because I'm...the king now." What he wouldn't give for a chair. 

Aiden held out an arm and Julian took it gratefully. "Let me help you inside. Introduce us to your village. I'm sure they appreciate your generosity each winter."

Another Witcher picked up their soiled clothing and Eskel dropped to the back of the group as they headed into the large stone castle where they could already hear excited whispers about a feast for traveling Witchers. There was little scent of fear coming from the many rooms and floors. It was mostly eagerness and wondering what Witchers wanted to eat and if they preferred beef to venison. 

Though the Witchers kept their faces stoic for the most part, they could feel each other's anticipation at being welcomed so warmly. 

Eskel lowered his voice when talking to Lambert, making sure Julian couldn't hear them. Though the new king was too busy distracting himself by animatedly explaining their crop rotation to a confused Aiden. 

Eskel didn’t to his brother the disservice of asking if he’d be all right on his assignment. For both of them though, he went over it again so Lambert could voice any objections if they were needed.

“When we leave, you and Aiden will stay with King Julian. I’ll send word once we’re back at the keep. I have no doubt the Wolf will give his approval but I’m sure Yennefer has ideas about placement and consolidation of kingdoms.”

Lambert nodded and after a moment's hesitation, he added, “You should pass it along to other Witchers on the Path about this place.”

“That it’s safe?" Eskel used the word with a grain of salt, which Lambert knew. But still.

Even within the White Wolf’s land, there was hostility towards Witchers. People traded one ruler for another and according to centuries-long rumors, Witchers were cruel and heartless. There was a terror running through so many veins in the Continent that none of the Witchers nor Yennefer knew how to fix it.

But here...

“I don’t think he’d turn any Witcher away." Lambert nodded to a woman who graciously took the soiled clothing from Coën, jokingly chastising him for the stains. A human woman scolding a Witcher as a joke? Eskel smiled at the sight. None of them could believe it but their medallions were still, there was no scent of suspicion or magic. "They can rest here. It’s a proper halfway location too.”

Julian had picked up the small boy they had frightened at the riverbanks. Julian held him in his arms, pitched against his hip and was introducing the shy lad to a very confused Aiden.   
  
"He looked surprised at our hair," Lambert said suddenly. "Did you notice?"

Eskel hummed. "I thought he was looking at my scar but you're right. He was eyeing the top of our heads."

"What about our hair is different?"

" _Our_ hair isn’t that different at all," Eskel stressed.

Lambert looked at his brother, eyes wide. “Oh fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how many people fit in a castle but someone on twitter said redwall abbey was a liminal space and that's how they got away with fitting every single mossflower woodland creature in there so that's my excuse for allowing julian to fit his entire village in there


	2. Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy meets boy, boy becomes witcher, boy pines for decades before answering for his actions

"Another invitation for you."

Both Geralt and Eskel knew that Witcher mutations gave them the agility and sight in order to land near anything onto [or usually _into_ ] a chosen target. Which is why Geralt's growl was louder than usual when another thick letter smacked his face directly as opposed to the desk in front of him.

"That's the third this week." Geralt looked at the thick envelopes as though they contained a rare poison or were set to explode. "Since when do we get invitations in double digits over the course of any month?"

"Ah well, it seems as though Baron von Litten has recently dined with King Julian." Eskel moved around the other side of the large table that he shared with Geralt and Yennefer in lieu of them having separate desks. He tapped his finger on the latest and most impressive invite by far, with what looked to be a gold paint around the seal.

"King Julian..." Geralt murmured. He hadn't yet met the new king Eskel installed for him. There was always something to do in Kaer Morhen. Some were more important than others. Much more considering Eskel had found him helping Vesemir to repair some of the outer walls and had to drag him back to the room they were using as a warlord's office.

"He wields his influence well. If people want to curry favor, they come see him, bringing gifts, and then they end up actually talking to Witchers. Real conversations."

Geralt was listening to his brother, or at least trying to. He inhaled and tried to focus on Eskel's voice but the exhaustion of the weight of what they had done was near overpowering. One city became two became a kingdom and then another. 

With Geralt at the head of it all. 

His brothers could have faith in this king but Geralt would stay wary. Someone had to. It was his burden.

"Watching it happen in person, I would have sworn he was a mage." Geralt's gaze quickly raised but Eskel held up his hands. "But no magic," he assured his brother. "Lambert hasn't detected any at all."

“You're telling me Lambert and Aiden actually talk to people?” Geralt snorted in disbelief. 

“Lambert _tries_ ," Eskel emphasized the word. "Julian normally interferes because he can see Lambert’s uncomfortable. Aiden says it’s very sweet.” When he realized Geralt didn't have anything to add, he kept going. “But Coën talks. So do the others. It’s not just Lambert and Aiden. There are a few Witchers who have made Lettenhove Castle a permanent home."

Geralt couldn't hold that against them. By all accounts the lodgings provided by King Julian were said to be warm and welcoming. Not like Kaer Morhen. 

Cold and a reminder of what had been done to the Wolves. Yennefer insisted they couldn't move out of the stronghold.

Not yet. 

But Geralt's patience was growing thin. He missed his brother but he wagered Lambert and Aiden wouldn't leave King Julian's side unless absolutely necessary. Which was fine, it _was_. As long as they were safe and happy. 

"His court musicians sing of the great deeds of Witchers and then the songs travel to other kingdoms as well. Yennefer was just telling me she heard of a court in Aedirn where the bard was forbidden from playing then even though the partygoers requested them. They are...catchy," Eskel admitted and gave a little hum. Geralt had to smile at that. Eskel had always enjoyed music when he could out on the Path.

They hadn't had a bard in Kaer Morhen in years but catchy tunes complimenting Witchers would explain so many of the returning subjects were humming around the keep more than they ever had. In fact, Geralt couldn't ever before remember a time of music in their home. 

Eskel hummed again. "Have lute, will travel."

"What kind of saying is that?"

"Ah..."

"A Julian saying," Geralt guessed.

"You'll need to go meet him eventually."

Geralt looked at the invitation again. It certainly was the most tempting of the three. A king who actually treated Witchers like people as opposed to monsters. What a novelty. He didn't want to ruin it. "Do I have to?"

"He's met grumpier Witchers than you and hasn't run from them yet if that's what you're worried about," Eskel told him, reading Geralt easily. "I think it'll be fine. It'll give him some peace, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're his liege lord." Geralt winced at the phrase but Eskel just glared at him and kept speaking. "And you haven't come to see him yet. Lambert says sometimes he double and triple checks his decisions with him and Aiden. He doesn't want to overstep. He serves at the pleasure of the White Wolf." 

"Hmm..." Geralt was still skeptical. He trusted his brothers with his life. But they all had had their run-ins with nobles over the years. And none of them good. Not until King Julian.

"It's not out of fear, I swear. I've smelled him. He’s welcomed every Witcher that has stopped there. The White Wolf has to be next." Eskel said it in a way that meant Geralt's time was finally up. It was no longer an option for him to visit King Julian but rather, Yennefer had already inked it onto his calendar. 

Eskel gave a pause that had Geralt examining him again. He waved his hand for him to get on with it. "Not to mention he's turned down yet another courting offer," Eskel said quickly. "Perhaps if you were to give him approval, his mind will be at ease enough to accept one."

"Courting offers from who?" Geralt asked, confused. When Eskel didn't respond right away, his eyes widened. “From Witchers?"

That Witchers would be at ease enough to court a human was. Well, strange. Not unheard of but not in decades, centuries even. If nothing else, that intrigued Geralt the most. Witchers had so much time to spend on the Continent. To set aside a certain number in order to live with and then lose a mortal lover was. Well, dedicated. Not even Geralt had had the...

"Quite a few Witchers if Aiden is to be believed."

"Courting a human, though?" Geralt checked again.

Eskel made a so-so motion with his hand that had Geralt remembering their first conversation about the king and his...not entirely mortal livelihood. 

"Julian is not quite human. There’s something else there. He’s assured us he’s mostly immortal but nothing dangerous. Not scared of us either which I think is where the novelty is coming in for most of our Witchers.”

Geralt nodded, humming once again. “No fear of our kind and the potential to live alongside us for decades.”

“You can see why he’s sought after. I wouldn’t describe him as bashful normally but when a courting offer is received, he becomes a bit shy.”

“Yet he turns them down?”

Something changed in Eskel’s demeanor. Geralt couldn’t quite place it. His brother didn’t smell any different but Eskel had suddenly begun to hold himself slightly different. 

“Says he fell in love with a Witcher in his youth,” Eskel responded, too casually, looking away from Geralt, running his finger over one of the wax seals of the invites.

Geralt froze ever so slightly.

Eskel sighed, even knowing his brother could hear it.

“And it went badly?” Geralt asked, voice slightly more hoarse than it had been only a moment prior.

“In a manner of speaking," Eskel spoke as gently as a Witcher could. Which really just meant a low grumble. "The Witcher stopped coming around. He’s not sure if the Witcher still lives or not but he said he can’t quite bring himself to enter into any kind of serious courtship when for so long he thought he had such a partner.”

"He said his name was Julian?" Geralt asked. On any other Witcher, the change in his tone wouldn’t be noticeable but his brother could hear the slight shake, the anxiety. He refused to look at Eskel, who took pity on his brother.

"He said he used to spend time at his uncle's home near Ard Carraigh."

Eskel waited for Geralt to respond but it was clear that his brother had frozen.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell?” He asked.

“Eskel...” It was barely a whisper. Eskel felt his shoulders come down. 

_Fuck_.

“I thought that’s what you might say.”

“Eskel,” his brother said again, this time with a familiar growl running through it.

Eskel came around to Geralt’s chair. It was a sturdy one with ornate carvings all up the high back that he knew the warlord hated. It used to belong to one of their instructors long ago and one of the mages had insisted a fearsome warlord needed furniture to match, even in his personal office. Eskel leaned his forehead against his brother’s, breathing deeply. "Geralt, please. Tell me what happened."

"I can't." Geralt's fingers were tight against the wooden table. Eskel was sure there were be imprints in the slab long after their conversation.

"Please," Eskel implored him. 

"I thought he was mortal." Geralt's came voice lower than a whisper. Even with Witcher hearing, Eskel had to come close. "I thought he deserved better. We were children. Every time I saw him we had both grown a little older and I realized or,” Geralt stumbled, “I thought that he’d just keep growing. It was selfish. I didn’t want to watch it and then...”

Eskel had memories of his own and as Geralt spoke, he could see a younger Geralt trudging back to the keep, clutching a bloody token of some kind.

Young Witchers left the keep often for training and time on their own in the surrounding mountains. They would be given a month to track down a monster and return with proof of kill. Some were sent to get specific items for potions while others were given a certain class of creature to contend with. All in the name of training, getting them ready for a full life on the Path.

"Other boys stuck together. You never wanted to," Eskel murmured. "Now I know why. You always went to him?"

He could picture it clear as day. A teenage Geralt with newly white hair pressing their foreheads together and wishing Eskel luck as they parted ways. It would be a few weeks before they would have seen one another again.

“Yes.” He finally met Eskel's gaze. "Every time."

Eskel shook his head, still trying to make sense of Geralt’s past with his own. “But you still managed to come back with proof of conquest each time. How?”

Geralt's grin was a clever one, Eskel had seen it before in sparring matchings, against monsters, and on the battlefield. Never quite like this though. “He would search around for contracts, any hint of monsters. I’d always have a head start so I could finish and then come back to him. Once he bought a kikimora head off a someone so I didn’t have to leave his side the whole time.” Geralt was well-aware of how in-love he sounded. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't let himself think of those memories in years.

"And then what happened?" Eskel wished he could take the words back. He knew what happened. He remembered their youth and how different Geralt was after a few years on the Path, when they finally came back to Kaer Morhen together. 

"Blaviken," Eskel added so Geralt didn't have to.

“And then the siege. What didn’t happen?” Geralt asked in response, arms still tight even in a shrug.

Eskel didn’t respond. For a moment, it was two of them thinking about the siege, caught in the memories of the actions that all at once destroyed their home and past. Yet here they were, still bound to it somehow.

"He deserved better."

"Sounds like he wanted you."

Geralt grumbled something Eskel didn’t quite catch that he assumed was meant to be incoherent.

“Well," Eskel pushed himself off of the desk and flicked the invitation back to it was tilted against Geralt's chest. "If you fuck up again, you’ll have to answer to most of the Witchers whoever passed through his kingdom.”

“Does Lambert already know?” Geralt asked carefully. If Eskel had figured it out...

“Lambert and Aiden both refused to be rotated out of Julian’s kingdom so it is safe to say they are aware and unwilling to leave him.”

“Hmm?”

“He was surprised to see our hair was normal," Eskel recollected. "It is my understanding that he was under the impression that all Witchers’ hair turns white during the trials. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him otherwise.”

“I..." Geralt remembered the shocked expression when his white hair was seen for the first time. He shook his head. "I felt as though I was already on existing on borrowed time with him.”

“Geralt...” Eskel sighed. “King Julian expects us for dinner. Lambert convinced him not to throw a lavish banquet but it is still a court dinner.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said quietly. “I knew him as Jaskier, not Julian.”

"Buttercup," Eskel murmured. There was something in his memory that he couldn’t quite get to. He looked at Geralt who already seemed lost in them.

_A sword flash in front of him._

_The keep coming into view._

_Smelling Geralt before seeing him._

_Brother._

_"-- flowers stuck in your hair, brother. You roll around in a meadow?”_

Eskel pulled himself from the memory, only realizing now that the flowers hadn't been resting in Geralt's hair at all. They had been braided into it. 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“People of the court, I give you, the White Wolf!”

Geralt exited the portal, stepping into the banquet hall. He understood the need for the pomp and making an entrance but being the last person out of a portal always meant he was tempted never to walk through it in the first place. He suspected this was why Eskel had asked Vesemir to stay behind at the keep but still see them off. One of the few who Geralt would listen to, or at the very least, could coax him through a portal. 

Cheers from the villagers were the first thing he heard. The long room was filled and their shouts echoed and bounced around the wooden beams in the high ceiling. He resisted the urge to duck his head and reminded himself that he was a warlord. These were his people now and they were, in a way, saluting him.

What Geralt first saw was Lambert, finally, after weeks on assignment, smirking at him. He had been missed. Taking Eskel's words to heart and with the cheers of the people in mind, Geralt let himself hug Lambert. Both of them smacking each other on the backs for a quick embrace but even that had the humans excited.

The first thing Geralt smelled, however, once he stepped back from Lambert and got his bearings, had been tense. He looked around, following his nose, needing to find the source and when he did, he couldn't take his eyes off of him.

At the long table at the northern end of the hall stood Geralt’s King Julian, regal even in smart, sturdy clothes with tousled hair as opposed to trimmed capes and a crown.

No, the people’s Julian. 

Geralt’s Jaskier.

_A soft hand in his own._

_Fingers through his hair._

_A laugh he could follow through darkness._

The smell of Jaskier had cycled so quickly, starting with relief but pivoting immediately to embarrassment and then to shame. It was a rotting feast of a stench that filled the hall.

The Witchers flanking Jaskier didn’t exactly flinch but their twin reactions were evident to Geralt, Lambert, Eskel, and any other Witchers in the room.

By the blessing of human senses, Jaskier’s people didn’t notice the change in their king. Jaskier’s voice was still bright, a smile still upon his face as he welcomed the White Wolf’s delegation to his humble halls. But the Witchers had to deal with a new smell from the king that hadn’t yet ever been experienced by them.

It was a combination of shame, embarrassment, nerves, and sadness that filled up Jaskier so much that the entire hall smelled like a decaying compost heap in the dead of summer that could catch fire at any moment.

“He couldn’t do anything by halves.” Lambert whispered under his breath just enough for Aiden and Eskel to hear it.

Still, the smell wasn't acknowledged. Nothing was. Geralt sat where Eskel told him too, a table on the side, with himself, Lambert, Aiden, Yennefer, and a few other Witchers had that made their home in the castle.

It was unlike any courtly dinner Geralt had been to. Mostly because the attendees were not royals or indeed any kind of nobility. They were Jaskier’s people. Loud children and their parents, dressed in warm, comfortable clothing. And Witchers. Some who Geralt hadn’t seen in years. He nodded to Rhys and Dragonfly, both at the same end of a table, watching him carefully. Not two Witchers he’d ever thought he’d see sharing a meal together.

Eskel was a comforting presence by his side, whispering to him about food, the people. When a little boy came up to Eskel and demanded to be lifted, his brother barely blinked. Just obeyed and sat the child between Geralt and himself, little legs swinging in the air as Eskel fed the boy from his own plate. 

All while Jaskier barely looked glanced at him. For all that Geralt kept his eyes on Jaskier, it wasn't until the court musicians began to play that he noticed the king finally looking his way.

The song was the same one that Eskel had been humming in their office. One that Geralt had heard around the keep but hadn't been able to place. A tune that Geralt knew and could remember with perfect clarity now because Jaskier had wrote while Geralt's head had been lying in his lap. Trying to hum off-key as Jaskier was perfecting the notes, in attempt to throw him off but in actuality, just wanting attention. Geralt catching Jaskier’s hand to hold it each time he went to mark down another measure of the composition.

 _"A beloved nuisance."_ Jaskier had called him back then.

For all that Geralt resisted coming here, he was determined now. Seeing Jaskier look at him with false and blank happiness turned over long-settled rocks in his stomach. Smelling Jaskier’s despondence and embarrassment was unacceptable.

It was a scent he remembered all too well and one that his subconscious liked to slip into his nightmares even after all these years.

_Jaskier in pain._

_Jaskier hurt._

_Jaskier upset._

Usually all accomplished by scenarios of Geralt’s own making. Never one quite like this though.

“I won’t hurt him," Geralt said, under his breath, to Lambert next to him. His brother just laughed and well, that was deserved.

“You already have. I’m asking you don’t make it worse.”

Geralt was surprised to see that it wasn’t just determination in Lambert’s eyes that he saw, it was pleading. Witchers had found a home here. People, Jaskier’s people, were kind to them. It was a safe haven outside the cold walls of Kaer Morhen.

It was barely a penance that Geralt had to wait through the dinner, nodding and doing his best to smile at the villagers who had been given a home in King Julian's castle just as Witchers had been. Once the food and ale had stopped flowing, it had been near hours later and still Jaskier's scent hadn't waned or softened. Not even when the little boy, Alexander, went to his king and demanded to be picked up for pre-bedtime snuggles. 

Still, when the villagers left the hall and the Witchers knew what was to come, Geralt got up and followed Jaskier's scent to rooms where it nearly overwhelmed him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jaskier covered his eyes with his hands and took a few deep and fortifying breaths. He hadn't made it into his bedchamber but rather just to his study. He supposed it was for the best. The small, cushioned chair was what he took comfort in now after such an exhausting night. 

He had knew, he supposed. On some level. The White Wolf. 

White. Wolf.

Or maybe he had just hoped.

What for though, he wasn't sure.

“Jaskier?”

Geralt’s voice sounded so similar. Older, perhaps, but the same roughness that Jaskier had grown used to after he had gone through the trials. It was tentative here, worried perhaps. Even Geralt’s footsteps sounded hesitant.

He hadn’t heard that name in years. He had missed it.

_Jaskier._

_Buttercup._

“Please,” Jaskier begged, not removing his hands from his hand just yet. He didn’t want to see Geralt this close to him again. He couldn’t. Not yet. “I need a moment.”

_No, lad, I'm sorry. I haven't seen your Witcher in years._

_Haven't seen any Witchers, to tell you the truth._

_I heard that there school might have been completely destroyed._

“You don’t need to do this,” Jaskier lied to both of them, eyes still covered. “It’s fine. I—. We don’t have to see one another.”

_Geralt watching the city from afar._

_Jaskier could be there._

_Or he could have moved on._

_Found a life without a Witcher._

_Five years._

_Weaving flowers through someone else's braids._

_Geralt nudged Roach down the opposing path._

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. Jaskier looked at him, mouth open, before shaking his head and averting his eyes. Geralt wanted those blue eyes back on him. It had been far too long. 

Jaskier could feel Geralt's presence in his small study even without looking at him. While he didn't have Witcher senses, Geralt was close enough that Jaskier recognized a smell that he last experienced so close to him that he thought perhaps he had just imagined it so many years ago.

He supposed he wouldn't again after this. It would become a memory again. Still, he had a chance and--

“I asked for too much. And I pushed you away," he got out quickly. Jaskier replayed all the conversations they ever had, convincing Geralt to take him on the path, asking the Witcher to meet him at school for half-term. He wasn't a complete fool. He could connect the dots with Geralt's disappearance to the final time they spoke.

_I cannot meet you there._

_This is our place. Here._

“Jaskier, no!” Geralt’s voice was grave and halted from unshed tears but he pushed through, not bothering to hide his horror. He moved forward and dropped to his knees in front of Jaskier, placing his hands and heart on the lap of his king.

Jaskier closed his eyes again and swallowed a hiccup in favor of a sob. He spread his fingers slightly, filling the space left within Geralt's grasp to feel out every part of his skin available to touch.

“You did nothing but love me," Geralt swore, swallowing, forcing the words out of him. No one deserved his words more than Jaskier. As soon as he pushed, they all came tumbling out of him. “The first five years on the path weren’t supposed to take us home. _You_ were home." 

Geralt lowered his head to rest on top of their joined hands, letting all the weight rest in Jaskier's lap.

“They called me a butcher,” Geralt choked out without raising his head again. He had to say it because he couldn’t hear it from Jaskier’s lips. If Jaskier called him the Butcher, Geralt would be broken, moreso than he was already.

Jaskier's voice came then, near as blank as his expression had been during the feast. “And then the massacre. My uncle...he told me about it.”

"After so much time...I thought you would have gotten married or. Moved on." Geralt's quiet admittance was followed Jaskier's heartbreaking single laugh, through tears.

"You’re a fool."

"I know."

"A right idiot," Jaskier stressed through his tears, moving his hands slightly so that Geralt would look him in the eyes.

" _I know_ ," Geralt said sincerely. "I'm so sorry. And you're still here." Geralt let go of Jaskier's hands only to reach up and touch his cheek. He paused right before making contact, asking for permission of a sort. Jaskier barely looked older from the day they had parted. Even blessed with a Witcher's long life, Geralt had still aged, and not just through his scars.

"Eskel mentioned you were...blessed with immortality.” But still, even with the evidence in front of him, Geralt couldn't believe it. 

“Oh,” Jaskier said, cheeks a bright red, whether from tears or just flush with a kind of embarrassment, Geralt wasn't sure. “In my defense," he said slowly, "At the time, I wasn’t sure if that gift had been passed to me. I didn’t want to...”

_Get Geralt’s hopes up._

Jaskier continued, looking away from Geralt again. "I was so ready to be excited when my father told me. But then...it seemed like a cruel joke. To have to experience long life without you." Jaskier’s tone became frighteningly quiet. Geralt didn’t dare move to comfort him. He had lost that privilege. He stayed still at Jaskier’s feet.

Instead, he told Jaskier what he thought his king was owed. “By the time I gathered my courage to come back through the town, you were gone. Hadn’t been there in years. Even when I'm there, I feel like I don't deserve to be.”

“I haven't gone back either,” Jaskier admitted quietly. “It hurt too much.”

“I’m sorry," Geralt said again. Then he remembered where they were. Why Geralt had come to the castle in the first place. “All you have done for my people and yours. I deserve none of it.”

“All Witchers deserve more than you’re given," Jaskier said viciously, leaning forward. "How could I not help your kin? After knowing what you went through? Seeing how you’re all treated with those awful rumors? Decades without power to so and now I would not spare myself the opportunity."

“You are just as I remember you,” Geralt said, warm and besotted. His brave Jaskier.

“Fierce and kind. Often at the same time.” Jaskier’s cheeks went pink at his words. “And now for my brothers. For all Witchers.”

_For me._

“Some of those rumors are true,” he had to press. 

Jaskier frowned at him, unimpressed. “Spare me.”

“Never,” Geralt said without thinking.

"I am not the same boy you knew."

 _There was no question of that_ , Geralt didn't say as Jaskier continued.

"Rumors or truth. Everyone deserves a fair place in this world to prove themselves."

Geralt felt his heart pounding his chest faster than it had in years. He wondered if the Witchers in the castle would hear it. Surely his brothers would.

“It is...” Geralt stoped mid-sentence. It was too much perhaps but Jaskier was alive and well and living in Lettenhove. Geralt would not like another chance pass him by. “Is it all Witchers you turn down for courting?”

Jaskier didn’t answer but Geralt listened to his heart stutter.

“I do not deserve your consideration but I’m going to ask it anyway.”

Still Jaskier remained silent. Which wasn't an outright refusal. 

“My king, will you allow me to court you with the intention of marriage? While I have already had a chance to prove myself to you, I beg you, let me attempt again. This time I will not fail you.”

Geralt straightened up, still on his knees, eyes lowered to await an answer.

"Geralt," Jaskier whispered and he just sounded exhausted. Geralt wanted to curl in on himself and disappear in his selfishness, to ask a man such a Jaskier with such an impossible task when he was already doing so much. "I have only ever been yours, for better or worse." 

Tension in Geralt dropped and Jaskier's forehead came down to meet his. Then, quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, Jaskier tilted his head up and their lips met in a warm kiss. It was short, and Geralt would have thought he imagined it if it weren't for the taste of Jaskier on his lips again for the first time in decades. There was no mistaking that.

They rested against one another and Geralt whispered, "I swear, by whatever honor I have, that I'll do my best to make it only for better."

Jaskier's smile was barely there but Geralt still counted it, even if it broke into a yawn that caused the king to turn to the side, away from their tender moment. 

"I’m sorry," he apologized but Geralt only shook his head. 

"I should be apologizing, again. You’re tired."

Jaskier nodded and Geralt stood up. This time he bent down to touch Jaskier's forehead to his own as the king leaned so much of his weight against his warlord.

“You need sleep," Geralt coaxed him up and out of the chair. 

“You won’t...leave? I mean,” Jaskier looked embarrassed. He turned his face away from Geralt again, his voice gaining a slight wobble that had Geralt’s chest aching. “I mean of course you can leave. We have duties, both of us. I just mean—“ 

Geralt would not push his fragile privilege by interjecting with another kiss but daringly, he let his thumb drop to Jaskier's lips. It did the job and the king stopped his talking and gave Geralt his full attention.

“By my own power, I will not leave you again," Geralt swore.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tone started as though he meant to chastise the most powerful warlord on the Continent but it ended in such wonder that Geralt moved his hand up to place it once again on Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned into the curve of Geralt’s palm, no doubt feeling the callousness that had been earned over eighty years. He turned to kiss the middle of the palm and Geralt resisted the urge to drop his hand in shock.

He did not deserve this gentleness from Jaskier. But by Melitile, he wanted it.

“Come to bed with me," Jaskier soft voice tempted him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said painfully. “I won’t. Allow me to do this properly. Please.”

Jaskier went up on his toes, not because he had to, he and Geralt were practically the same height, but because of his longing. He came back down to the floor and touched his forehead's to Geralt's only to whisper, “I will, my heart. I promise. But please don’t let me sleep alone another night. Not if I don’t have to.”

Geralt took Jaskier's outstretched hand and as though in a trance, he followed him through a few outer rooms to the bedchamber. It felt like a dream and yet Geralt's hand didn't go towards his medallion and he didn't shout out for his brothers. If he was sleeping, then let him stay that way.

Following Jaskier's lead, he removed his outer pieces of clothing, letting them rest next to Jaskier's formal jacket and pants. Then, without any washing up or putting on of sleep clothes, Jaskier pulled the blankets back from their stiffly-made position on the bed and beckoned for Geralt to get in.

It would have worried Geralt on any other night. They'd both have to deal with the consequences come dawn. Jaskier's love of night time routines was something Geralt remembered well. The additions of creams, the changes to his stretching, soft clothes, and how Geralt used to watch from the bed and wait for his lover to finally finish and come to him only to finish and come again and have to repeat the washing process.

Still, looking at Jaskier on this night, Geralt was only surprised that his king was still awake after such an evening. It wouldn't be long for him to fall sleep now. They'd deal with everything else in the morning. 

Geralt let Jaskier curl into him so he could wrap around him. He reached down to pull at the heavy blankets that all smelled like Jaskier. He had dreamt of this memory this before. The two of them, skinnier and decades younger in Jaskier's small half bed with never enough blankets. Geralt using himself as a blanket to stop Jaskier from shivering. 

Neither of them were cold now. Jaskier was in his arms and Geralt felt only at peace. 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The sliver of sun through the drapes of Jaskier's bedchamber were not enough to warm the room in the morning. Not when the fire had gone out hours prior. If Geralt had to guess, most of the servants were warned off bothering them in order to keep the hearth aflame. 

Still, it wasn't the chill that had woken Geralt. 

"Geralt..." He heard the whisper from the hallway for the second time in two minutes. It was Eskel. 

Geralt rubbed his nose against Jaskier's skin, his whole face in the crook of his king's neck, breathing in his scent for the past ten hours. It was heaven. Geralt hadn't been this content or rested in decades. He moved slightly and Jaskier's grip on his shirt tightened.

A quiet confused whine came from Jaskier's closed mouth, pitched slightly upwards at the end of it. Geralt wished he could just speak to Eskel telepathically.

_Do you hear him? You must know that I can't leave him. Not in this fragile moment._

Turns out that Eskel knew what he was thinking regardless.

"I know," his brother's whispers carried through the door, not disturbing anything or anyone except Geralt. "But our contingent needs to leave. You don't have to come with us. Not right now. But we need to discuss just a few things. I promise you can go right back to him."

Geralt audibly groaned and he shifted in bed. Jaskier's eyes snapped open and slightly, just a hint of that nervous stench from last night began to waft towards Geralt. 

Making a decision, he used both arms to gather Jaskier and his blankets to his chest even as he stayed sitting up on the bed. Jaskier was buried in the quilts and furs and Geralt breathed in his scent. He felt Jaskier's hands clenching around the folds of the fabric, tightly holding on to everything that wasn't Geralt. 

"I will be back. My brother is in the hall. But I will come back to you."

_I will come back to you in this bed._

_I will come back to you always._

_I will not leave you alone in this world again._

Something in Geralt's resolute tone must have rung true to Jaskier because Geralt felt some of the tension leave his body and he sank back down to the mattress, still curled in the blankets. Geralt stayed another few moments, feeling like a lovestruck teenager again as he made sure Jaskier was warm and cocooned. When he realized Eskel would wait no longer, he leaned down to kiss the top of Jaskier's head before making his way out of the bed chamber and through to the hallways.

Eskel was standing just outside the door to Jaskier's suite. In his hands was a large plate, two thirds of which was laden mostly with crumbs of what had currently been his brother's breakfast. The remaining third had a few smaller pastries and warm bread with an apricot jam. He looked at them as though to will him into his stomach, remembering how little he had eaten during the previous night's dinner on account of his nerves and shame. 

Still, the wondrous look he was giving breakfast food, Eskel was giving him. 

“That’s what that smell always was,” Eskel blurted out. “Anytime you’d leave the keep, you’d come back smelling like this. It’s happy Julian.” 

_And happy Geralt_ , he didn't say but judging by the look his brother gave him, it was heard regardless.

Seeing as it was just a glare and no further consequences, Eskel felt content enough to continue on with his favorite pastime of poking fun at his brother. He hadn't done it with true joy for both of them in quite some time.

“Let me guess, you finally found a warlord’s partner we’d all approve of and now we need to look for a new king for this land again?” Eskel teased and Geralt couldn't help but smile back. He waited for Eskel's eyes to widen to an understanding. This was better than just Geralt having a partner and finding peace. 

“Or..." Eskel guessed, unable to keep excitement out of his voice. "Or, Julian is being sensible and telling you to move the army into public lands so they can be visible not as just a force of destruction.”

“He knows my dislike of Kaer Morhen. Especially now. He sees it as the place that took me from him. I would not ask him to live there.” Geralt shook his head. That was never going to be an option. 

“So we’re staying?” Eskel's voice was hopeful in a way it hadn't been in quite some time. Geralt pushed aside the guilt he felt at uprooting the lives of so many Witchers. They had gone on a journey with no destination in mind, only a hope to create a better Continent if they could. Yet they had gotten to some kind of safe resting point.

Geralt inhaled but they both already knew his answer. They had found a home here. While Geralt was gathering them a kingdom, Jaskier [ _King Julian_ Geralt's brain whispered] had _made_ them a home. "Tell Yennefer that we're staying."

"I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to make you tell her the news again in person."

"Later," Geralt growled though truly it came out more as a plea. Eskel gripped his shoulder and smiled.

"I jest, brother. Go back to him. Hey!" Geralt didn't wait for another word but he did pluck a pastry off of Eskel's plate. Perhaps Jaskier was hungry. 

Geralt adjusted his footsteps to become lighter as he headed back into Jaskier's room but still a head popped out of the mounds of blankets. Jaskier looked tired but rested, he smiled the moment he found Geralt in the doorway. If Geralt arrived at his bedside faster than he had even managed to move during some fights, it went unmentioned. He held out the buttery pastry, steam was still coming off of it.

“You went all the way down to the kitchens and only brought back a single pastry?” Jaskier looked at it, confused. His hand hovered over the hand pie but he didn’t take it.

“He stole it from me,” Eskel’s voice called from the hallway, this time loud enough for Jaskier to hear. 

Jaskier gave Geralt an exasperated smile and for a moment he felt like their past and future all at once. He moved his hand up from pie to behind Geralt's head, entangling his fingers in the long white hair before moving them down to cup his neck. Geralt felt his eyes flutter shut just as they had when they were teens.

He didn't need to see right now. Geralt could smell his brother in the hallway, Jaskier in front of him. He was safe. Jaskier's lips were on his, slightly open, a tang from not having rinsed his mouth yet that morning and slow from not even having moved out of the bed. 

Geralt's eyes opened again when Jaskier pulled away. Geralt knew the smile on his face hadn't been this wide or relaxed in quite some time. Even when it had made an appearance, the events were always stacked against the loaded deck full of every moment Jaskier and Geralt had spent together as children, teenagers, and then, briefly, as young adults. 

He wanted Jaskier's lips on his again but Jaskier's hand tightened on his neck and Geralt stayed put but tilted his head slightly to the side. 

“Go give your brother back his breakfast,” Jaskier said sternly. “We’ll have a tray sent up.” Geralt grumbled but obeyed, pushing himself off the bed and back into the hallway.

“Oh, I’m going to like having him around.” Eskel’s grin made Geralt want to punch him but he remembered how Jaskier’s soft smile was waiting him in a warm bed. 

Tackling Eskel down a flight of stairs could be postponed. 

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you all enough for the comments on the first chapter; they were all so sweet & warm. I hope the second & final chapter does them justice.


End file.
